Metamorphosis
by S.L.V
Summary: A teenage girl talks about her life and feelings as an anorexic
1. metamorphosos

'Please Katy. Just try and eat a little more.' Here we go again. Nag, nag, nag. 'Sorry Mum, but this egg tastes off. I'll have some toast though, but please don't stick butter on it. It makes me feel sick.' Oh oh! She's still putting the butter on. It's as if my opinion isn't worth listening to. Well, I'll just have to scrape it off won't I? 'Don't look like that Mum. I'm eating it aren't I? And I asked you not to put butter on it, so you shouldn't be surprised I scraped it off. Don't you want me to eat?' 'But I promised Doctor Grey I'd make sure you had at least 2,000 calories a day. How am I supposed to do that if you eat only dry toast? And look! You've left most of it anyway.' 'Oh don't fuss!' 'Don't fuss? You promised us you'd make the effort to put on weight. Don't you realise how worried we all are?' 'Well I didn't ask you to worry did I? Why don't you all just leave me alone!' 'Katy! Please stay here. Don't run off to your room again .'  
________ Well that got me out of there quite nicely. Now, where's my notebook? . Okay. So far today I've eaten half a slice of toast (it was thick bread so that will be 55 calories) and it had some butter on it (another 50 calories), and I've had two cups of coffee. I'm sure Mum put full fat milk in the coffees. Doesn't she realise I can taste the difference? That'll be another 120 calories. So that's 225 calories so far today. I've got another 275 for the rest of the day. Not bad. Especially if I do my aerobics video and run twice round the park. Hah! I'm still on course. I will be tiny and I will be happy! . As long as they leave me alone .  
________  
  
'Katy! Are you getting ready? You've got to see Dr Patel at 10 o'clock.' 'Yeah. I'm getting ready. Just got to do my hair.' 'I hope you haven't put a thick jumper on. It's 80 degrees out there.' Here we go again. Moan moan, nag, nag. 'Look. If I get changed again we'll be late.' 'Okay. Just get down here then.'  
________  
  
Dr Patel is my psychiatrist. He spends ages asking me the same old questions: am I happy; have I tried going back to school yet; how do I get on with my mum and dad and my sister; do I like going out with my friends; have I got a boyfriend. To which I always answer: yes; no; okay; no; and NO. It's not true of course. I have got a boyfriend, but I'm not telling him that. Dirty old man! Last time I told him I had a boyfriend, he asked me if we had sex. Well of course I said no! I'm fourteen for God's sake! If I told Patel the truth he'd tell Mum. They think I don't understand about Anorexia. Well I think I know a darn sight more about it than they do! I'm the one who's got it after all. They think they're clever. Well so am I! I've read all the books about it. I know psychiatrists aren't sure how to treat it ... I did like the bits that said that anorexics are usually highly intelligent though ... So why do they still think they can fool me! Most of the books talk about girls who don't want to grow up and are scared of developing into 'sexual beings' as they call it. Well I've got news for them! Me and Marcus have been shagging since I was twelve! It's better now though. Since my periods stopped I don't have to worry about getting pregnant. An added bonus of Anorexia, you could say! Marcus does worry about me though . Says I'm getting too skinny. Bloody typical! It was him ogling that Suzi Marshall, with her long, skinny legs, that made me go on a diet in the first place . Well . It was one of the reasons anyhow...  
  
________  
  
Well. That's another boring visit over. Complete waste of time as usual. I told Patel I was eating more. He believed me. I answered my usual yes, no, okay, no, and NO, and then he said, 'See you same time next week'. He didn't even ask to talk to Mum. She was well annoyed! . Oh, oh! Mum's heading for that café. Here she comes with the excuse. 'Do you know? My feet are killing me! Let's go in here and have a coffee.' How unsubtle can you get? 'Okay. Just a coffee then. I'll have it black. Could do with a boost after seeing Patel.' 'What about a doughnut? Or a piece of chocolate fudge cake? It used to be your favourite?' NO! 'Okay. Sorry I asked.' Good. Mum's not going to nag me. Well not yet anyway. Oh. Here we go! 'Mum! You know I said black! I'm not drinking that milky thing! Now I'm left without a drink. Is that what you want? Me to dehydrate?' 'Katy please. We just can't go on like this anymore!' Better take it easy here or I might get sent back to the hospital. 'Look Mum. Don't cry. I will eat more. You can watch me at dinnertime. But what's the point of filling me up with creamy milk and chocolate cakes? That's no good for me! Dr Grey said I had to eat proper meals, didn't she?' 'Okay Katy. But this is your last chance. If you don't eat a good dinner tonight, including the potatoes, I'll ask if you can go back to the hospital. I mean it!' 'Deal! As long as it's boiled potatoes. You know that mashed and roasted make me sick.' (And she'd add loads of butter to the mash).  
  
________  
  
Now you may be wondering why I'm acting this way. You're bound to take Mum's side. People always do. That's okay. It's hard to explain to people, and when I try, no one seems to understand. But I'll give it a go anyway. I said I started dieting because Marcus ogled a skinny girl. Well that's not strictly true. I would have dieted anyway. For as long as I can remember, people have said I'm 'big-boned'. That I'm 'strong' and 'sturdy'. I've been called 'mature', 'capable', and 'sensible', and everyone expects I will do well at school and get a good career. They say I will always be able to look after myself and be independent. No one has ever thought I needed taking care of and nurturing. They expect me to do it all by myself. Other girls are described as 'flighty' or 'giggly'. They say Suzi Marshall is 'delicate'. She fainted once in the playground. It was like a 'swoon' from one of those old-fashioned films. Everyone rushed over to her and fanned her and brought her glasses of water. I fainted once from sunstroke. I fell so heavily I bruised my knees and cut my elbows. But my friends all laughed at me. They dragged me over into the shade and left me there. Girls like Suzi are like fragile little birds, or tiny, gauzed- winged butterflies. When they giggle it's like a delicate tinkle that people find irresistible. When I laugh it's like a hippo roaring in anger! Well I want to be tiny and fragile-looking. I want people to fret over me when I'm ill and cosset me gently back to health. I want to break out of this ugly, hefty chrysalis and emerge as a beautiful, gauzed-winged butterfly! When I'm dainty and fragile-looking, people will call me pretty and boys will offer to carry my heavy schoolbags. All these things happen to pretty, dainty, fragile-looking girls. They never happen to fat, stumpy caterpillars. They've always said I have 'heavy bones'. I don't know whether this is true or not, but if I lose enough fat it will make up for it anyway. They say that too much dieting makes you lose muscle. Well good! I'll look more delicate then won't I? All these charts give you the 'ideal weight for your height'. But they're stupid! I'm much thinner than that already and I still look sturdy ... Well I think I do anyhow. So now you see my plan. I'm transforming myself from a cumbersome, ugly caterpillar into a beautiful, delicate butterfly.  
________  
  
Please don't tell Mum what I said will you? She doesn't understand and if she finds out she'll send me straight back to hospital. They make me eat there and they watch me all the time to make sure I don't throw up or take laxatives. Going back there would set my plans back by months. And I'd only start on them again as soon as I got out anyway. So there's no point is there? Just a few more weeks and the transformation will have taken place. I will shed this ugly, hefty chrysalis and out will emerge a beautiful, delicate butterfly. I know I'm probably putting my life at risk. Enough people have told me so. But it's worth it. And if I don't survive, at least when they bury me my coffin will be light. Everyone will feel sorry for me and wish they had looked after me better when I was alive and then they will mourn the fragile little thing that has flown out of their lives forever.  
________ 


	2. Communication

'What's the matter with you, woman?'  
  
George rapped his pipe angrily on the sideboard. Normally this act would have had Margaret moaning at him about scratching the furniture, but this time she remained staring into space.  
  
'Margaret!'  
  
'Oh! Sorry George. I must have been miles away. Did you say you wanted a cup of tea?' She scurried to the kitchen.  
  
'I didn't say that.' But he was speaking to thin air.  
  
George was worried. These days Margaret seemed to be in a world of her own most of the time. He was finding it more and more difficult to get through to her. She had always been a good wife; fussing about, making sure the house was nice and that he had his meals on time. When the children were young he had offered to help, but she had insisted that she could manage. She was always cheerful, chattering away about this and that, so much, in fact, that it was him who had switched off at times, taking refuge in his own thoughts. She still made a good job of the house and looking after him, but nowadays there was no spark in her and her constant chatter had ceased.  
  
'There we are dear. A nice cup of tea and your favourite biscuits.' She placed the cup, saucer and plate on the coffee table in front of him and then retreated to the chair by the window.  
  
'What are you sitting over there for? Come and sit here with me.'  
  
But Margaret ignored him.  
________  
  
Margaret slumped into the chair, grimacing at the anticipated twinge in her left hip. Was this all she had left to look forward to? She could put up with the pain from her arthritis. Most days she even managed to go without the tablets that made her stomach feel so uncomfortable. But this feeling of being in a dream all the time was almost too much to bear. She knew that George had noticed a change in her, but she was too afraid to talk to him about it.  
  
'Best not to talk at all.' She assured herself. 'Then if I lose concentration on what he's saying he won't get annoyed.'  
________  
  
Simon had come round to help his dad dig the garden. George knew he was going to say something soon. He bowed down, concentrated hard on tugging out the weeds, and waited for the inevitable question.  
  
'What's wrong with Mum? She hardly spoke to me and didn't seem interested when I told her how the girls were doing at school.'  
  
'Yes I know Son. She's been like that for a while now. Sometimes she doesn't seem to notice I'm there at all, and when she does talk to me, half the time it's nothing to do with what I've said.'  
  
'I hate to say this Dad, but is she all right? You know how Gran went. She was younger than Mum too, only seventy when she started forgetting who people were. Perhaps you should get Mum to see the doctor?'  
  
'There's nothing like that wrong with your mother! It was my mother who had problems with her memory, so it's me you have to worry about there. All your mother's family lived to be a ripe old age. They were crippled with arthritis mind, but they all knew exactly what they were doing, right up to the end. There's nothing wrong with your mother that a good night's sleep wouldn't cure.'  
  
'She doesn't sleep very well?'  
  
'No. She won't take her painkillers, so she twists and turns all night. But that's all that's wrong. She doesn't need a doctor to tell her that. Now I don't want to discuss this any more. Is that clear?'  
  
But after Simon left, George sat unseeing in front of the television. The truth was that he was at his wit's end worrying about Margaret and didn't know what to do.  
  
'Hello dear. Has Simon gone? He didn't say goodbye.'  
  
'Yes he did! He called out to you. You were doing the ironing in the kitchen.'  
  
'Oh dear! I wanted to ask him how the girls were before he went. They're both at school now, you know?' 'But he told you. Oh, what's the point!' George rose and pushed past Margaret into the kitchen. He couldn't take much more of this!  
  
'What's the matter dear?'  
  
But he had had enough. Let's see how she liked it when he didn't answer.  
________  
  
Dr Forsyth had been very kind. He'd given Margaret some tablets and told her to come back and see him in a week's time. She hadn't understood everything he'd said, but he had been very thorough, looking in her eyes, ears and mouth, taking her blood pressure and sounding her chest.  
  
'I'm to take three of these a day.' She told George. 'Could you have a look at the instructions on the packet for me? I can't find my glasses and I really can't remember whether he told me to take them with meals or not.' She stared at George intently, waiting for his reply.  
  
'Yes. It says to eat something first. But why did he give you these? They're antibiotics. Did he say you had a cold or something?'  
  
'Well . I did have a cold a couple of weeks ago, didn't I? But I'm all right now. I'd better take them though. Doctors know best, don't they?'  
  
'But didn't he tell you anything?'  
  
'Well yes. I suppose so .' Why did George look so angry? Perhaps it was because he hadn't wanted her to go to the doctor's. He had said that, hadn't he?  
  
'George. I'm sure the doctor knows what he's doing.'  
  
But her husband had left the room.  
  
________  
  
'She's cracking up in front of my eyes!' George muttered to himself as he scraped the butter knife hard across the crusty bread. 'She even got home too late to make my tea tonight.' He cut off a huge slab of cheese, slapped it down on the bread, slammed the sandwich onto a plate, and stamped back into the living room, where he placed himself straight-backed in his chair, intentionally turning away from Margaret.  
  
He couldn't keep the silence up for long, however. He had to make her see how angry he was. 'I'm going to watch that programme on train journeys tonight.'  
  
He knew she hated anything to do with train spotting. 'So you won't be able to watch Eastenders.'  
  
Surely that'd make her sit up and listen!  
  
But Margaret sat looking out of the window. She never even acknowledged that he was there.  
  
________  
  
A week had gone by and George still looked angry. He hardly bothered to speak to her these days and when he did he mumbled. But she had to tell him her good news.  
  
'Oh George, I'm so happy!'  
  
'Happy?'  
  
'Yes! I've just seen Dr Forsythe. Everything's all right. There's nothing wrong with me! Well, nothing serious anyway.' 'I hope you told him off for giving you those antibiotics then?'  
  
'No. I thanked him. They did me a world of good!' George was staring at her as if he thought she didn't know what she was talking about. And she had to admit she had given him cause for concern.  
  
'Look. Truthfully. It's fine. That cold left me with an ear infection. I could hardly hear a thing. It was like being in a fog. I stopped talking to people because I felt such a fool when I couldn't understand what they said. I even stopped talking to you George. I'm so sorry. I was worried it might be something more serious. But now the infection has cleared, the Doctor has been able to syringe out my ears and I can hear perfectly!'  
  
________  
  
George gave a sigh of relief. Margaret had been temporarily deaf! Why hadn't he thought of that? Things could get back to normal now, but he promised himself that he'd never ignore her chatter again.  
  
'Well, I suppose doctors have some uses.' He admitted, grudgingly. Then he smiled hopefully.  
  
'Are you going to get my tea now?'  
  
________ 


End file.
